This is a fan translation of Agent of the Star Corps (Агент Звёздного корпуса) by the Russian science fiction author Leonid Kudryavtsev.
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
Chapter 13
The Sniffer looked like a kindly and portly middle-aged man. Except there was nothing kindly in his face. It only appeared that way at first glance.
Especially for someone who knew what a Sniffer was. And Michael did.
That's something I couldn't have accounted for, Brado thought. According to my intel, there shouldn't be any Sniffers on the planet. But clearly there's one. Or maybe he came to Abausa very recently. Today or yesterday. Most likely, the Ragnites brought him in secretly and kept him hidden until now. Not that it matters.
Michael put his hand into his pocket and felt for the unigun.
He doubted he'd be able to stop the Sniffer even with that weapon. But he had to try.
The Sniffer beckoned Michael with a finger. He had an almost mysterious air about him.
No way, Brado thought. That trick isn't going to work on me.
He shook his head.
The Sniffer raised his hands and said loudly, "What wouldn't I do for a good man?"
Smiling again, he started crossing the street, heading towards Brado.
Michael was barely able to restrain himself from shooting him. But he held back.
If the Ragnites had hired the Sniffer to kill him, he'd never behave in such a manner. Most likely, Michael would've only seen him a moment before dying.
Just tracking then, Brado thought. For now. Yeah, that makes sense. The Ragnites don't have their weapon yet. Weapon? Screw it, what's the point of pretending otherwise? The thing Haka stole was probably a new weapon of some kind. Maybe if the Ragnites get their hands on it again, it will let them win the next stage of the bloodbath.
"You're not very kind for a mark," the Sniffer said, pausing only a step away from Michael. He was standing casually, but the Star Corps agent knew that catching a Sniffer unawares was extremely difficult, almost impossible. He shouldn't even try. At least for now.
"Has kindness helped any of your previous marks?"
"Of course not," the Sniffer chuckled. "But they all thought it might. You see, marks really like to delude themselves. It's probably the nature of all marks. The belief that kindness can change something."
"All of them?" Michael asked.
"No. There have been ones like you. But only a few. That makes it more enjoyable. I'm going to think about giving my employers a discount. Assuming you're going to make this fun for me."
"Oh, I will," Michael promised gloomily.
"What else are you going to do?"
The Snifer pretended not to hear the threat in Brado's voice. Or maybe he really had misunderstood.
No one really knew anything about the Sniffers. They simply appeared and did their job. For payment. They didn't care about moral considerations. It was impossible to bribe them. Or frighten them. The only option was killing them. But that was a rarity.
Michael only remembered three such cases, and in all three it was a Super doing it.
I'm not even a Super, he thought. Still… let's try it. What else is left for me to do?
"Go on, run," the Sniffer said. "I think three hours will be enough."
"For what?" Michael asked.
"To understand that you're not getting away from me. Or you can do it later. But everyone tries to run sooner or later."
"Without exception?"
"Without exception."
"All right. I'll try. By the way, did your employers ask to pass anything along?"
"No."
"How did you recognize me in this disguise?"
"It's my little secret."
"How much time do I have?"
"Until tonight. My employers said that if you don't make an agreement with them by tonight, I have to kill you."
The Sniffer smile again. He had triangular teeth, like those of a shark.
So my time has been shorted to a few hours, Michael thought. And I've gotten nowhere. Except for my visit to the xenobotanist, of course. But he didn't tell me anything new. Or did he?
The Sniffer leaned against the building wall, pulled a small but sharp knife from his pocket, and started trimming his nails. They were long. The Sniffer's look told him that he could keep it up until sundown.
He had no intention of staying near the xenobotanist's building all day.
Getting a taxi, Brado gave the driver a made-up address in the middle of the city, and, getting in, shut the door. When the taxi was driving past the Sniffer, Michael saw him shrug, put the knife away, and run over to a red car parked across the street.
Sure, what he'd decided to try was unlikely to succeed, but he had to at least make the attempt. Maybe it would work.
Only a few minutes passed before the red car began to tail them. Looking back to make sure the Sniffer was driving it. He leaned to the taxi driver and asked, "Kid, want to make some money?"
The driver was indeed young. Without looking at Michael, he asked, "How much?"
"A lot. How much is your taxi worth?"
The driver told him.
Michael counted off double the amount from the cash taken from the chief centurion's safe and handed it to the taxi driver, "Here."
Quickly figuring it out, the driver asked, "Buying the car?"
"Yeah. You can tell the centurions that I threw you out of the vehicle at gunpoint. Got it?"
"That will work. What if they catch you?"
"They won't. Anyone but centurions."
The taxi driver snorted doubtfully but decided not to argue.
"Where should I drop you off?" Michael asked.
"Anywhere. Quickly. Looks like you're in trouble, otherwise there's no way you'd be throwing away so much money."
"You're right."
"Okay, then stop at that intersection."
"Will do. But don't say anything to centurions for at least an hour."
"An hour is too long. I can promise you half."
"All right."
Stopping at some store, the taxi driver took the money, got out of the car, and walked away. Michael switched seats and looked at a small screen next to the control stick.
The red car was twenty meters behind him. The Sniffer's face looked a little sleepy, as if he was incredibly bored by it all.
All right, I've got half an hour, Michael thought. Then centurions will be on the lookout for the taxi. They'll find it quickly. Half an hour then. A lot can be done in that time.
Flipping open the control panel, he dug around in it, pulled out a bright-yellow wire and connected it to a dark-blue one.
Now this rattletrap would drive faster, even faster than the speed limit.
Screw it. You couldn't have a chase without speed.
Glancing at the screen, he saw the Sniffer shut the lid of his own control panel.
Yeah, it seemed that guy didn't mind speed either. Except they couldn't really do a proper chase in the city. That meant they'd have to get out into the countryside.
Still, he ended up speeding. Just a little, but enough for a centurion aircar to start hovering over his vehicle. The crazy woodpecker seemed to be having fun right into his ear.
Instead of trying to evade law enforcement, Michael stopped the car. He climbed out and, throwing his head back, looked up at the aircar.
It was descending. One of the centurions opened the door, ready to jump down onto the sidewalk. His gaze fell onto Michael's face.
"Oh, great corncob!" he muttered.
"What's the matter?" Michael asked politely.
"Nothing," the centurion said gruffly. "Looks like we made a mistake."
Before closing the door, he grunted, "Damned alien."
The aircar began to gain altitude.
Michael pictured the anger of the centurions inside and smiled. He'd calculated right. The cops decided not to mess with an alien over something as small as speeding, figuring the risk of getting into trouble was too great. There was no way to know who that alien might turn out to be.
Smart move, Michael thought. They have no idea what danger they've managed to avoid.
He got back into the car and looked at the screen.
Somehow guessing that the mark was looking at him, the Sniffer nodded in approval.
The centurions could've easily dared to check Brado's ID. Then he'd have to start shooting. What would the Sniffer have done? He could've easily remained on the sidelines or helped him shoot back.
True, he hadn't been hired to protect the Human's life, but a dead Michael couldn't be tracked. The task wouldn't be completed, and the payment wouldn't be full.
Michael lit up a cigarette. He was smoking it slowly, leisurely, trying to extend the pleasure. Then he tossed the butt onto the street.
The centurion aircar had long ago disappeared over the roofs. He didn't see any others nearby, so he could keep going.
Taking the shortest way, Brado reached the highway. Several minutes later, the last of the buildings were behind him. Michael shifted the speed lever to the highest setting. The car dashed forward as if it had a jet engine.
The Sniffer's car followed suit.
Speed consumed the world outside. Everything on the side of the road turned into a colorful smear. Now the important part was avoiding a collision with any cars on the highway.
Then again, this wasn't much of a problem for Michael. With his reaction speed, driving this far was child's play.
And now it's time to test whether these Sniffers are as good as they say, Brado thought almost malevolently.
The red car was following him as if the two vehicles were tied together. But all that meant was that his engine was as good as that of the taxi. What about the driver's reaction speed?
Michael started with the old but reliable tricks. The road and the cars on it became something like a maze to him, one that was constantly changing since the distance between the vehicles was alternating between growing longer and shorter.
Michael passed them one after the other, trying to slip between the cars at the last moment, so that the Sniffer couldn't repeat the maneuver.
It was useless. His pursuer would fall back for a time but then catch up again. It seemed Michael wouldn't win the contest of reaction speed. The Sniffer's was no worse than his. Maybe even better.
Michael bit his lip.
He had to think of something. To lure his pursuer into such a trap he wouldn't be able to escape even thanks to his incredible reaction speed. Michael had the advantage of driving first. He had to use it. How?
Brado glanced at the screen.
The Sniffer's face was just as sleepy and bored. It seemed the mad race hadn't impressed him in the least.
Brado passed another dozen or so vehicles. Time was running out. There were likely several centurion aircars already on the way to this section of the highway. Now they wouldn't care that he was an alien. Such driving was dangerous and would be punished severely. If a fortuitous situation didn't appear within the next several minutes, he'd have to call the race off and return to the city. Too bad.
And then he got his wish.
A column of huge, heavy trucks appeared up ahead. Realizing they were carrying tanks of fuel, Brado knew that Lady Luck was giving him a rare opportunity. Such columns were typically controlled by a single driver. He was in the first truck. The rest were under computer control. Because of them, the column was moving as if connected by an unseen chain.
In a way, it was exactly what it was. Assuming one considered the computers to be links in that chain.
Michael saw the column while the trucks making it up were pulling onto the highway from another road. Five of the trucks were already on the highway, and about as many were still on the road.
Michael had no more than a few seconds to set the trap for the Sniffer. He used them.
One of the trucks was just then turning onto the highway when he reached the road. Speeding past it, Michael hit the brakes.
Brado was thrown forward and nearly slammed into the controls. Fortunately, the seat managed to wrap itself around him like a giant pillow and kept him from harm.
Such a situation had been programmed into the truck's computer. When Michael's car stopped, the computer stopped being a link in the chain and switched to autonomous mode.
The truck braked as well. It skidded and turned to block the highway.
The Sniffer reacted in time. His car swerved and headed for the side of the highway where there was a gap big enough to slip through. At that moment, Michael's car dashed forward and began to accelerate.
If there were a living being at the truck's controls, the crash could've been avoided. But the computer also began to accelerate when Michael's car did. It only managed to move a small distance, but that turned out to be enough.
The gap the Sniffer's car was trying to slip through narrowed. The situation became hopeless. Even a Super's reaction wouldn't have helped.
The Sniffer's car clipped the side of the truck's fuel tank, then skidded and flipped. Continuing to roll along the highway like a huge empty barrel, his pursuer's car slammed into the fuel tank of the next truck. It exploded.
Michael was already speeding away. The flames of the exploding fuel tank nearly singed the roof of his car, but a moment later it was already behind him.
Slowing, Brado glanced at the screen.
Right. Only two trucks were on fire. The column was stopping.
Knowing he had to be as far away from this place as possible, Michael once again switched the speed controls to the max setting.
It seemed Supers weren't the only ones who could kill Sniffers. He'd have to write a report on that.
Still, the Star Corps agent understood he'd gotten lucky. He also had a strange unexplained feeling that this whole story with the Sniffer wasn't over. We'll see, Michael thought. He didn't feel pity for the man. After all, it was his job, his bread and butter. He'd known what he was doing, what the risks were.
Reducing speed to something more reasonable, Michael spotted another road the branched off from the highway. Turning onto it, he soon entered a forest. The thick canopy shielded Michael's vehicle from the centurion aircars that had to be combing the road in both directions from the site of the crash. He stopped the car and leaned back in the seat. It seemed he'd gotten away. Lucked out again.
How long would it keep going? That incredible luck that allowed him to remain alive and even smack his enemies on the nose. Hopefully, a little longer. Otherwise, the Ragnites were going to get their weapon back and, without a doubt, win the next round of the bloodbath.
Brado opened the car door, stepped out, and inhaled the spicy air of the forest, filled with the aroma of the grass and the previous year's decaying foliage.
Then again, luck wasn't the only determining factor. His ingenuity was another.
Where could Haka have hidden the weapon? It was unlikely to be large. Probably a small object, a box or a container.
He could've stored it in a bank. Or in a storage locker at the spaceport. Or hidden it somewhere where no one would ever find it.
The sharafey leaf. Maybe it was a clue. But what sort of clue? These trees only grew on Fostera. Should he go there?
No.
He had to take into consideration the fact that he wasn't the only one looking for the weapon. The Ragnites were too. From the moment they'd killed Haka and hadn't found it on his person. The Ragnites had likely found a way to look in bank safes and storage lockers and had probably searched all the places on Fostera where Haka had been.
No, the weapon had to be here, on this planet, in the city. And only he was capable of finding it. Otherwise the Ragnites wouldn't have left him alive, wouldn't be offering him deals, wouldn't have sent a Sniffer after him.
And if that was the case, he had to do it. He had to find it and bring it to Earth.
But finding it came first.
Birds were chirping in high-pitched voices in the tree canopies overhead. Small brushwood was crackling in the nearby bushes. Probably a small critter of some kind.
Michael lit up a cigarette and continued his reflections.
All right, why couldn't the Ragnites find the thing Haka had hidden and he could? Maybe because he and Haka knew something that the Ragnites didn't. What?
The cloud of cigarette smoke soared into the sky.
Michael took another drag and suddenly had it…
Of course.
Ragnites didn't know Earth's history. Haka had. And he, Michael Brado, did too. Well, he was supposed to, being Human and all.
It's getting worse by the hour, Michael thought. Haka probably hid the weapon with the help of some method used on Earth in the past. The idea that I, a native of Earth, might not know that method wouldn't have entered his mind.
Flicking the cigarette butt into the bushes, Michael strolled towards the highway.
It was time to get back.
Still, he'd gotten a step closer to solving his partner's secret. He wondered how many such steps were left.
Before returning to the highway, he remolded his face again. Now he was an Abausian somewhat reminiscent of the taxi driver Luan. He thought he might have a better chance at getting a ride with that face.
The calculation had paid off.
The first car he saw stopped, and the driver graciously offered to give the weary pedestrian a ride to the city. Michael eagerly climbed in.
Soon they reached the site of the crash. Three aircars had landed next to it, and about a dozen centurions were working busily near the still smoking remains of a truck and the Sniffer's car.
"Whoa, a car accident," the driver said. "How could that have happened? I've never seen fuel trucks getting into crashes before. They're computer controlled, you know."
"Can't computers make mistakes too?" Michael asked.
"The company making them claims that there's no situation on the road that can cause their computers to make a mistake."
"What about that?" Michael pointed a finger at the crash.
"Then it was someone else's mistake. Probably a car driver."
"I'm sure that's what happened," Brado agreed.
He ended up having to spend the rest of the drive talking about crashes, computers, and cars. The driver turned out to be a chatterbox.
He dropped off Michael near a nightclub. Evening was still hours away. Not a single car was parked next to the club. But the advertisement was already working.
A breathtaking in every respect blonde was jumping around the club's façade and shouting cheerfully, "New this season. Something no one on this planet has ever seen. Hallucinogenic symbiotes. An incredible effect! A total high! Relatively cheap."
Michael walked down the street, found a small park, and sat down on a stone bench. He had a feel that he'd almost reached the solution to Haka's secret. Another effort, and he'd figure out where the Betulian had hidden the weapon stolen from the Ragnites.
Just a little more…